Olivine Nights
by Snowden
Summary: Eric is a fresh league champion returning home to Olivine City, where a certain gym leader awaits her childhood friend. They're no longer kids, and their relationship struggles to survive the realities of life. A series of one-shots, rated M to be safe.
1. Homecoming

"Eeeek!" The lady nearly fainted, shocked by the presence of a stranger in her house. However, the extreme fear lasted less than a second, as it gave way to extreme joy.

"Eric!"

"Hi Mother," he replied meekly. He stood there casual as could be, leaning against the counter, holding a half-eaten roll to his mouth.

"Oh Eric!" She rushed forward to wrap him in a bear-hug. He wheezed and struggled to find breathing room.

"You didn't even tell me you were home! You rascal I was so worried! Don't you love your mom enough to tell her you're home!"

He pushed her away. Tears began streaming down her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, again meek as a lamb.

"You're so grown up! Four years! Four years without seeing you! Oh my oh my!"

"Mother, please." She grabbed him again, tight, uncomfortable hugs as she fussed and mussed all him.

"Mother, I've got..."

"Oh dear goodness I can't begin to say how much..."

"Mother..."

"... I missed you!"

"Mother!" He finally took hold of her shoulders. "Here. Look." He grabbed a parcel from the counter, and put it into her hands.

"What? What's this?"

"I don't know. Father sent it."

"Oh you've seen him? Oh my oh my. How is he?"

The son looked down at his feet.

"Not good, honestly. They put too much responsibility on him."

"Oh dear. I called him just last night.... he didn't say anything about you coming home either!"

"I didn't tell him."

"Oh... but nevermind, you're here... I'm... wow. Four years, you've grown like a Sudowoodo! ... And your voice... Even over the phone I couldn't tell."

Eric felt awkward. His mother was difficult to be around, especially alone. How he wished his sister was here, or better yet his father, to calm her down.

"Oh. Your bags?"

"I didn't have much."

"And you must be filthy! All that travel!"

"I just showered. And brushed," he answered pre-emptively.

"Well. Then. You'll have to tell me all about it! And of course you're hungry. How about we go out? The Olivine Resort, we can celebrate!"

"Not now, Mother."

"Oh... but..."

"I think, what I really need, is some sleep."

"But... Oh no you don't! Nearly forgot."

"What?" She grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to the front door.

"You've better have at least said hi to _her_."

Silence.

"You didn't."

It wasn't something he was looking forward to.

"Eric Alexander Loft, you are not sleeping in this house until that lady has been properly greeted!"

From what he remembered, Mother could be safely ignored without fear of reprisal, but that would also make her cranky and unbearable for days. And, this one time, she was right. He couldn't put it off forever. So he nodded, and walked out the door.


	2. To the Lighthouse

Eric made his way through the murk and haze. It was only evening, but the weather was terrible, as if the entire overcast sky had descended to the ground. All light was gone, except one. A beam of soft light shown in the distance, bright and dancing ever so slightly. That light was his goal.

As he passed through the streets, he reflected on how much changed, and how much stayed the same. Olivine wasn't a great city, but it had its charms. Eric hoped that those charms hadn't vanished in his absence. This place held a lot of memories... dreams and hopes, and comforts. He wanted those comforts now. With every step, he also wanted one comfort more than any other.

He had thought he knew his hometown, but somewhere in the fog of mist and memory he had had gotten lost. The houses looked familiar, but he couldn't place them. He was afraid not only of being lost, but for losing his grip on the past. A bench presented itself to him, and even though the seat was slick from the recent drizzle, he sat down.

His thoughts wandered. Mostly he thought about her, and how he could possibly meet her without cowering away.

A ten minute trudge, and he stood beneath a tower. The Olivine Light House.


	3. Kid Talk

"What is the difference between a Master and a Champion?"

He looked back over the shoulder, giving a wry smile.

"What is the difference between a candle and the sun?"

"Don't tease me like that!"

"I can't help it, ten year olds are very easy to pick on."

"Meanie."

"But really, what is the dif? I always thought they were just really good pokemon trainers."

"They are that." He kept walking, though slow enough for the kid to keep pace.

"A Master is anyone who has defeated eight gym leaders in a region. It's not that special. There are rules preventing gym leaders from becoming too strong. That would be bad, since then we wouldn't have a qualified pool of trainers for the league."

"Um... yeah... What's a champion then?"

"Well, some people like to think champions are special, and only the winner of the Pacific League gets to be called that, but it really belongs to anyone who wins a League championship."

"But Dad, you won the Pacific League, right?"

He stopped. Under his breath, so his child couldn't hear, he muttered.

"Five times."

"Hmm? You won it, right! You're a Champion! So you're a special trainer!"

"No, I'm not."

"But you won!"

"Eric, I am not a Champion."

"But... but... why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I quit, awhile ago." The pair emerged onto the back deck. Greeting them was a beautiful vista of evergreens and mountain peaks. It was always quiet, except for the wind, something that Sebastian enjoyed. These valleys were calm, and peaceful.

Peaceful. Peace. That was the future. The past and all of its violence... could stay there-

In the past.


	4. Park Battle

Eric and Jasmine sat at the park bench. They watched their pokemon do all things tamed pokemon do during playtime. It was a good day. The cold March air was alleviated by a clear, sunny sky. If a person stayed in that beautiful sunshine, they wouldn't be bothered by the cold at all. The wind wasn't biting into the skin, either. Such nice weather attracted a lot of other people to the park, including trainers. So it was a good day, and a busy day.

"Eric, get that hat off your face." She bent over to bat the offending article off. His lazy hand waved about, fending her off.

"Nah nah. It's fine."

"You look like you're sleeping. Don't you care what other thinks about you?"

"Yes, very much so. Don't you?"

"What? Yes!" she pouted. "Do you want them to think you're a lazy slob?"

A moment passed. "Why, yes," he answered. Jasmine leaned over to stare at him beneath the ballcap.

"Why would you want them to think that?"

He couldn't stare at her eye to eye. "I don't care what they think about me," he said awkwardly. "As long as they think it's some nameless bum."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I don't want to be recognized. I wish you'd hide yourself too. See all those trainers?" He pointed over yonder. "I don't want to get called out into a pokemon match."

"You lazy coward!" Her hand chopped out, cuffuing the ballcap off his head.

"Hey, wait!" She grabbed his cap and waved it at the afore-mentioned trainers.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" when they stood there, puzzled, she ran over there. She held a brief, pointed conversation. From his view, there was a lot of hand-waving, shouting, then a shy routine, and finally incessant pointing at his direction. "Jazz, please don't do this."

She came running back, a little breathless, but grinning ear to ear.

"Get up Champ, you've got a match!"

"What are you planning?" He didn't have time to ask, as the biggest of three guys stepped forward. He wore a t-shirt, jeans, flip-flops, and an know-it-all grin that made him look more of a jerk than a star.

"Yo, you Eric?" he said in a mock street accent.

"Yes. What has she told you?"

"Yo kid, we hear what ya say behind us normal trainers back. Think ye so smart? We'll pound ya!" The leader nodded, a signal for all three of them to grab their pokeballs.

"Hey listen, please," Eric said defensively, "I'm not in the mood to fight. Whatever she said, she lied."

"I don't think so Mr Champ. You said the odds are three to one you can beat anyone, any time. Well, here's three trainers, even up those odds yo!" The ghetto-speak was so poorly imitated that Eric felt sorry for this kid. He probably had a decent family to go home to, but wanted to be a rebel. He didn't appreciate what he already had. One partner looked the same. The other was short, scrawny, and bore the marks of actually living on the street. A busted up eyebrow showed he had seen one to many black eyes.

"What's your name?" Eric asked.

"Would you like ta know. You remember this, the man that brought the great Eric Holt down, George Vandike! Vince, Puck, let's show em a "fair fight", see what kinda trainer he is den!" They chucked their pokeballs in unison. Glittering lightforms gave way to a Jolteon (George's), Raticate (Vince's), and Gliger (Puck). "Bring it on!" shouted the trio.

"No." Eric's face was somewhere between bemusement and shock. "I'm not fighting."

"Gotcha!" Jasmine bear-hugged him from behind, out of nowhere, the sneaky snake. She reached down to his waist, pulled out one of his pokeballs, and tossed it out. One lightshow later, Dusclops appeared. "Beat them with Dusclops! I've got money riding on this!"

"What?"Eric broke out of her grasp and faced the girl. "That's the plan? A bet?"

"I guess." said she, innocently. Her chin tucked in and her eyes got all poofy on him.

"Uh, no! Jazz, I'm not a criminal; I'm not fighting a casino match."

"Aww Eric!"

"The Champ a chicken? Woo-hoo! Wait till we get this out!"

"Shutup biker wannabe's." Eric tossed over his shoulder. He turned back to his girlfriend. "Why are you doing this? Wait," he pointed his finger as she tried to answer. "Why are you really doing this?"

Unfortunately for Eric, his short-term priorities were mismatched with the situation.

Kapow! He landed face first into the dirt, held there by a hard-knucled hand. Puck, the funny-eyebrow guy, held Eric in a body lock. The kid was a lot stronger than could be guessed by his wiry body. "Don't go insulting us, champ. You're a nobody here, you won't get special treatment, see? Not here."

"Geroff!" screamed Eric, as he tried to push himself up.

"Hey this is supposed to be a pokemon fight, not a street brawl!" Jasmine said as she slapped Puck over the head.

"Dusclops, Mean Look him!"

"Gliger!"

Dusclops reared up to obey Eric, sending a menacing stare that would cripple anybody's determination. It was intended for Puck, but Gliger flew in lightning-fast, taking the Mean Look full in the face and not budging for it. Regardless, Puck got off Eric, laughing.

"Awesome! Nice choice, champ, Mean Look means no one leaves this battle till someone's KO'd."

Eric rose slowly. He realized he'd have to deal with this the hard way. If he could... he gave a dubious look at his ghost pokemon.

"Why did she have to pick Dusclops."

Each trainer began belting out instructions at the speed of a ticker-tape machine. The pokemon dutifully obeyed their orders, trusting their masters to come up with the right strategy.

"Dusclops, um... Will-o-Wisp. No not Jolteon, wisp the Gliger!" The burned Jolteon shrugged off the attack, suffering a little damage but otherwise still able to belt out thunderbolts. Eric wasn't used to this kind of battle. Dusclops wasn't a competitive pokemon, it needed much closer guidance than his others. If Flygon had been called out, the pokemon would have known exactly who to target and even set itself up in an aerial position, to give Eric maximum options. As is...

"Duuuuu!" Dusclops moaned with agony as bolt after bolt from the Jolteon landed. The electric-type finally halted, needing a rest. Raticate darted forward, unable to attack the amorpheous body of its foe, but plenty able to block its vision. Gliger, meanwhile flew figure-eights overhead, looking for an opportunity.

"Raticate, show em what strategy is all about! Substitute!" Raticate furiously pelted the ground, creating a doppelganger of itself out of grass and mud. Dusclops' Will-o-Wisp hit the grass, singing it but otherwise being useless.

"Gliger, Fly." The pokemon dove through Dusclops, unable to slam its bulk into the ghost, but the accompanying air vacume toppled its foe anyways. Dusclops wobbled back to its feet.

"Cloppa cloppa," it burbled, confused and helpless.

"Dusclops, just, I..." Eric was hard pressed to come up with a strategy. He was having a difficult time even remembering what moves his Dusclops knew. "Just Shadowball them." Dusclops turned and stared at him blankly.

"You don't know Shadowball? Gah. Watch out!" Gliger zoomed in and injected poison into Dusclops. It backed off, giving Jolteon room to Pin Missile. If it weren't for the pokemon's substantial defenses, it would have fainted by now.

"Eric, what are you waiting for? Stop procrastinating!" Jasmine complained from the sidelines.

"Just shut up, will ya."

"Don't tell me to shut up!"

"Dusclops, just do something!"

The Ghost turned to its nearest attacker, the Raticate, and used Night Shade. A dark aura eminated from Dusclops, surrounding the overgrown rat and hurting it. Raticate collapsed.

"Oh.... That doesn't make sense. Unless." Eric pulled out his pokedex. He was wasting time, he knew, but there was an important piece of information he was lacking here. Meanwhile, Dusclops was hit with more Thunderbolts and a suprise Dig attack.

"Pokedex, show me the levels." He held it up to the combatants. It bleeped, then three figures came on screen:

Dusclops - Level 61

Gliger - Level 32

Jolteon - Level 28

"Wow." Eric had to take another look at Dusclops. His memory kicked in. Dusclops was bred and trained to capture rare pokemon. It didn't have a very powerful arsenal, just a few specialized moves to sap strength. It also needed to be tough and durable, since capturing a pokemon was more dangerous than trying to KO it. Despite multiple direct hits, his Dusclops was still standing and still healthy.

"Dusclops."

"Du?"

"Nightshade till they're finished." The ghost promptly let loose a series of Nightshades. It's an attack based on experience, measured in levels by the pokedex. Dusclops outleveled both of his remaining opponents put together. Nightshade dispatched first the Jolteon, then Gliger. The teen punks stood aghast.

"Well, when strategy fails, brute force is a good back-up." Eric recalled Dusclops to its pokeball.

"Awesome!" Jasmine was all smiles.

She teetered over to the gang boys. To Eric's astonishment, she handed out a 500 bill to each of them. It was small compensation for the cheap defeat they had been handed, particularly for the nasty trainer. Money is money, however, and they took it without protest or threat. Jasmine waved them off with a more cheerful look than they would be able to muster for the next few days.

"Hey!" Eric stood aghast. "I won, and you still paid them! What gives?"

"Silly, I didn't bet anything. I paid them to take a shot at your pokemon."

"Wait, you paid them just to pick a fight a fight with me? That's... " Eric couldn't find the word he was searching for.

"Kind of a boring fight, but I got you to think like a battle trainer again, and that's what counts!"

Eric reflected. She had just been trying to cheer him up, get him back to normal. Or what she considered normal. When they were little, the two of them had been pretty rambunctious. They yelled everything they said, sometimes singing and yelling at the same time. When they went places, they ran. When they ate, they stuffed their faces full and distributed the leftovers to the far corners of the picnic table. They cried, and not of sadness, but the reaction to toys broken at their own hands. In short, they were brats. Yet, they were always happy together.

"That's how you remember me," thought Eric. It wasn't who he was, today. He didn't know how to convey that to her, though. A best friend could take the news, but not her. She was more than his friend, now.


	5. Weakness

"What are you doing?" He didn't asnwer at first. It was obvious, from the explicit magazine laying on his lap, to the wet, musty odor in the air. He did a better job than most at hiding, but girls just know what boys are up to in these situations.

"Indulging in a weakness," he replied meekly. He would not apologize verbally, but his face was overflowing with it. She stared him down. Those steely blue eyes could make him feel guilty in the happiest of moments. Having already confessed, those eyes made the shame feel like pure anguish.

"Eric."

"Jasmine."

"This isn't the first time."

"Not nearly."

"Since I found you."

"Oh." He felt very uncomfortable, not even being able to clean himself up.

"You weren't like this when you left."

"It's called puberty."

"Not just this. Your attitude. It's like you don't care what others think about you anymore."

"Hmmph."

She crossed her arms.

"Just say it, you don't like my habits. Jealous?"

"Yes. And with good reason! You came back and charmed me into being your fiance-to-be again, and now you're looking at nubile chicks on the paper and fapping to them."

"Impressive vocabulary."

"Grah!" She looked like she wanted to hit him. Her arms unfolded and locked bolt-straight ot her body, fists clenched and shaking. Eric knew he had to stop the games, but a a little voice egged him on."

"Honestly you're much prettier than the porn-stars, even with clothes on."

She really did bring down her fist. He winced, but there was no pounding on his noggin. Instead her hand ran through his hair, grappling enough to hold him but not hurt the roots.

"I'm sorry. I can't help it."

"If... you have got to have that... nudity, you might as well have mine."

"Wait what?"

"Swear off the porn and I'm yours."

Eric wriggled until he was free and looking her eye to eye.

"No."

"Why not! You like big breasts? You like variety!"

"It's not that."

"Am I not good enough for you?!" She stood their, hands on hips, lips locked in a frown, a momunement of frustration and anger.

"Jasmine..." His eyes roved her body. They could have been twins, for all the similarity. A scrawny body that refused to grow up, tan, or gain weight. Average height, skinnier waste, sticks for limbs and a flat chest. The steely eyes were the most prominent feature of an oval face, upwards of cute little nose and equally small mouth, all surrounded by hair that should have been brunnette but for the sheen that made it appear metallic grey. By most men's standards she could never be called 'ugly' yet never achieve 'hot' either.

"... You're too good for me."

Slap.

"Ow!"

"Don't you dare demean yourself like that!" Anger had passed, now shown a righteous fury, incomprehendable to the poor boy.

"But... I'm not going to spoil you for my own sake."

"I'll be... Eric you're a pervert but damnit you're my pervert. You may be down and grumpy and emo but you are MY emo. No I am not just jealous, I am concerned. I can't imagine what happened to you out there, but I won't let you rot to waste because life has not been kind to you."

Silence for a little, as he collected his thoughts.

"It's going to take more than pep talks."

"I know that. I'm willing to help. And you know me."

"Yeah... full metal as always. Cheeky girl."

"I've got a lot of lessons to teach you. For starters, giving you something worth appreciating." She stepped forward to the bedside, until he couldn't move or get his face out of her chest.

"Jasmine, please, don't do this."

"Too bad."

"Oh..." His mind protested, his dick objected, and his mind tried to overrule.

"Please?"

"Idiot."

"Please?" Dick was beggining to win.

"Baka." She began massaging his head.

"No coitus then, allright?" Dick claims victory.

"For now." And she suprised him by leaping onto the bed, bouncing into a sit beside him.

"So really, what turns you on?"

"Huh?"

"If we're going to do this I want to do it right. So what makes you horny?"

"Um..." His member was rising. "You, in general."

"I see." She was glancing at his nether region. Those cold, hard eyes didn't feel any better directed there than at his face.

"I was afraid of this."

"Come on."

"Ok. Well. I do I have fetish for... clothes."

"Like?" he was disturbed at how eager she looked.

"Well, ever since I saw you in that black satin dress-up, you know, the stockings and elbow gloves and bare-back."

She grinned, a twinkle now in the azure orbs. "I'll be right back."

When she returned, his mouth was slack and mute. She was enmeshed in a svelt dress, gloves, stockings, with a few frills and laces but otherwise very elegant. Her hair was not made up anymore, but let down, pinned on either side with ribbons. No style, but she was better without. This dress really highlighted her figure, with the fabric tighter she wasn't scrawny so much as lean and devoid of fat. It still couldn't make up for the flat chest though.

"Am I sexy now? These big enough for you?" she said, cuddling her small breasts.

He shook his head.

She seemed ready to explode.

He made a shape of his lips and uttered, as profusely and whole-heartedly as he could possibly manage:

"Beautiful."

She smiled, a wry, mischevious, smile, with her whole face. And for once, for an instant, those metallic eyes of azure depth turned soft.

"That... that really touches me," Jasmine said softly.

"And," continued Eric, "I _adore_ small boobs."

She fell into a fit of gigles and, landing on his lap, hugged him.

Nothing serious happened that night. The pair simply enjoyed the embrace and a few kisses, until they fell asleep aside eachother. Eric woke up first, and saw how peaceful his girl slept. He gently carried her back to her own room, thankful she hadn't carried through.

"Another day... good night Jasmine." She sighed in response, hoping he didn't notice she was also awake.

"Another day, huh?" she whispered as he left.


	6. Small Choices

"Meet me at the mall, kay? Bye!" Jasmine hung up as quickly as she called. Eric set down his cell phone. He was wondering if he should even bother to go out to meet her.

There was his pokemon. The creatures spend most of their lives in pokeballs. Scientists say its like dreaming or a good night's sleep, but Eric doubted it. His pokemon could get cranky if he ignored them for too long. Tonight was supposed to be for grooming and checkups. An assortment of balls lay before him, awaiting release.

"Choices choices," he muttered. Go to the mall. Groom his pokemon. Do nothing. Which pokemon to groom? Try getting Jasmine to change her mind, and go someplace else? Or come here, to his house, and help him? Choices indeed.

He sorted six balls out from the rest. Tiny icons on the activator indicated which pokemon was inside. These six were special to him. They were the team he had taken to his 4-6 victory in the Hoenn Championship. Flygon, Skarmory, Lapras, Snorlax, Gengar, Salamence. Selected and trained for the abilities and strengths they could bring to a match, not for any bond he shared with them. He was proud of them, for their courage and tenacity in that final match. Yet, he wondered if he loved them. If there was a bond, it was purely proffessional. Unlike the bond he suspected he was forming with Jasmine.

"Sorry guys, I have to go. I'll take care of you tonight." Eric whispered to them, hoping they could hear him, and understand. He picked up his wallet, put on his shoes, and headed out the door.


	7. Suicide

Jasmine walked along at a pace that was less of a walk and more of a sprint. Fear was in her once-steely eyes, a fear that hastened her step, that clutched her heart. She had never been this anxious.

She passed the causeway, and then the park. The school and the little shopping district fluttered by. She didn't give these places a glance. Her eyes remained affixed to the night sky before her. Fifteen minutes after pelting out of the lighthouse door, she arrived at Eric's house. She didn't bother knocking on the front door. Only one person was home. Maybe.

Jasmine did pause before his door. Her hands clenched into fists. The right hand rose, and rapped the door. There was no sound, no reply.

Her fears boiled up. Her eyes were crazed. She raised her hand to pound on the door. It came down...

...but hit nothing. The door creaked open just as her fist came down. A gloomy, exhausted face appeared in the crack. Eric's face. Without a word, Jasmine forced the entrance all the way open, stepping inside. The boy casually made way for her.

"Eric, that's..." she pointed to the object sitting on the desk, in plain view.

"A gun, I know. Kinda scary, isn't it?"

"Eric!" an exclamation, it was not yelled, but whispered through clenched teeth. Jasmine heart was throbbing. Each beat could be felt, each breath heaving her chest like a great wave. The fear in her eyes vanished. Sheer terror took their place.

Eric, for his part, appeared totally apathetic.

"Don't worry, I've only got one bullet." He raised his hand. His fingers twiddled a single pistol round.

"Who the hell do you think I'm worried about! That's a gun! _What the fuck are you doing!!!_" Jasmine screamed at the top of her lungs.

"I..."

"I'm worried about you, you bastard!"

Eric looked up, broken, humiliated.

"That's why I couldn't... I had it in my mouth, but I couldn't pull the trigger."

He went to the desk. Jasmine tensed into total stillness. Eric only set the bullet down, and began to shuffle past her, heading towards the doorway. He was stopped by a clawed hand, clutching his neck from behind.

"You... you're life isn't just yours to throw away. It belongs to me. And your mother. And your _father_. I won't... I refuse..."

"My father... he would understand," Eric said nonchalantly. She ignored him.

"We don't- don't give a f... don't care about your feelings, if it's those feelings that are causing you to act like this. We care about you... just you. Don't do this to us."

In turn, Eric ignored her, lost in his own strain of thoughts.

"That's why he took the job. That's why he's never home. He buries himself in responsibility, burdens himself with taking care of others so he doesn't have time to think about himself. That's why he drinks every Saturday night, and prays alone at 3:00 AM Sunday mornings. I couldn't live like that."

"No you can't. You're going to live how we tell you." Jasmine waited for a reply, but none came. Only a slight sound emitted from his nostrils. Her furious, fearful eyes relaxed. Her hand relaxed, and let go of his throat. It lifted to his eyes. She felt the wetness there. Her hand was quickly covered in tears.

"It's alright."

"It's not."

"It's alright," she repeated.

"They're dead, Jasmine. I can't bring them back."

Eric collapsed onto the floor, sobbing. Jasmine took the pitiful boy in her arms. "It's alright. Let it out."


	8. Speech

Eric strode to the front of the classroom. Not a fiber of his body or single bead of sweat betrayed the nervousness in his mind. The determination he had needed to persevere through the past few years was all now needed to give a simple public speech. His hand slowly, steadily lay his notes out, then gripped the podium.

"I once asked my Father, 'What is the difference between a Master and a Champion?' He replied, 'What is the difference between a candle and the sun?' I was young and skeptical then. I only got the message, but not the meaning. Today, I am a Champion, in title at least, and I know, intimately know, the effort and sacrifice needed to win a League Title."

"Through my own accounts and research, I will guide you through the process, organization, and importance of the Pokemon Competitive System. But, more so, I want to share the thoughts and ideas, and the emotions that come with bringing 32 of the best trainers in the region into one area, having them face each other in battle, the duel of the trainers wits and the clash of their pokemon's strength."

"But what I most want to convey, is the cost... no... responsibility that comes with becoming a Champion.

He took a deep breath, then barreled forward into the body of the speech.

...

"I have no biography sir."

"That's unnaceptable. You know that will effect your grade, impressive as your delivery was."

"Let me explain. All of the accounts and research were by me, first-hand knowledge. Or, if you really prefer, I can list my father, since he taught me most of those facts over the course of ten years."

"Oh, I... this is unusual. I'll need to see you after school then."

"Why?"

"Well, we'll have to verify that you completed the actual research, and didn't depend on other's work."

"Yes sir.... another afternoon wasted to the ego of academia." He muttered the latter part so the teacher couldn't hear him.

"Hey Eric!" Jasmine leaped up to him as soon as she saw him available.

"Wonderful job."

"You know what Jasmine."

"Hmm?"

"Thank you, for making me do that." He felt great. The load he bore since home-coming was nearly gone now. Those hollows feelings that fame had so tortured him with... gone. He tried to reflect on them, but every word and arguement led to that one night of outpouring they had shared.

"Eric." She planted her elbows on his shoulders, draping her arms across them, looking him eye to eye. She glanced around to make sure the teacher wasn't paying attention.

"Yes Jasmine, I know you have a beautiful face and this would be an excellent vantage point to admire it... but what are you doing?" asked Eric.

"Shut up." Her lips kissed his, and he returned it. It was a deep kiss, a passionate kiss, an everlasting bonding of two lovers. Eric was in bliss, and wouldn't stop for anything.

Until he was rudely shaken.

"I'm sorry to interupt." It was Mr. Moresby, a school admin. He was known as a romantic among the gossip circles, so Eric was not only mad about him breaking up the couple's kiss, but offended by the hypocrisy. He was about to tear into the intruder.

"You're Eric Loft?"

"Yes. And Moresby-"

"You need to come to the office, right now."

Eric was shocked, and puzzled. This wasn't something to go to the office over. "What do you mean?"

"It's about your father. There's been an incident."

Eric's blood ran cold.


	9. Picture of Silence

It was a good thing the school officials reached him before the television sets. It was not a pretty sight. Jasmine wished she could be there for him, but they weren't letting her out of the room. So, despite her worries, there was nothing she could do but join the other twenty-five students and the teacher in gaping at the screen.

"The Pokémon Administration Head Quarters, Redwin, Castor region." Read the captions. There were no descriptions. The picture was enough for that.

The HQ, once a seventy-five story sky-scraper, lay strewn across seven city blocks. Bits of debris the size of houses littered the streets, tearing gaping holes into other sky-scrapers, crushing shops and cars, burying everything. A massive cloud of dust and smoke plumed into the sky, and at the center of the chaos, an inferno was raging. The number of casualties weren't even comprehendible at this point. Four-digits, minimum, if not five.

"We're getting reports of a conflict within the tower shortly before it collapsed. The police are not saying anything, only focused on recovery efforts," the reporter said. "Oh god-" "Back up! Back up back up!" someone screamed off-camera. A second sky-scraper, critically gouged by falling debris, fell into itself. The reporters were engulfed in a thick dust cloud.

Jasmine found her classmate, Ariel, standing beside her. They instinctively hugged each other.

Shock? Fear?

There is an emptiness in the aftermath of a disaster that words fail to describe.

Eric returned a half-hour later.

Jasmine rushed to his side.

"What did they say?"

"There was a terrorist attack. It may have been involved some kind of Pokémon," Eric choked back his tears. Jasmine took him in her arms.

"My dad was inside the building."


End file.
